


Finish Lines

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Established Relationship, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Rituals, Samulet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Dean’s wondering if there’s a finish line for them like there was for Jesse and Cesar. Between the search for some way to keep Amara off his case and cleaning out Magnus’ hideaway there’s just enough time to work out those details with the one guy who would know, Sam.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Vague references to previous non-con assault (not Sam/Dean though). This is a Coda to episode, 11.19 “The Chitters”, written for the 2018 [](https://deanwbigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[deanwbigbang](https://deanwbigbang.livejournal.com/). Thank you to [](https://jdl71.livejournal.com/profile)[jdl71](https://jdl71.livejournal.com/) for the extra-speedy and super-helpful beta! Thank you [](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/profile)[sillie82](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/) for the beautiful art you created for this fic, it makes it all so much more special. Art Masterpost [can be found right here.](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/441564.html)

 


	2. Chapter 2

~~**~~

 He tried saying the words silently at first, lips moving over the syllables to see if they’d cut or burn. His heart beat faster and his stomach gave a gurgle of discontent, maybe it was the microwaved breakfast burrito from the gas station. Once more he asked himself the question, feeling the breath puff past his lips as he still managed to keep the words silent.

 

For inspiration or maybe encouragement he replayed the look on his brother’s face as they’d listened to Jesse and Cesar talk about their relationship. Had it been hope or resignation he’d seen there? He still couldn’t figure it out so that meant he had to ask the question burning a hole in his pocket. _Fuck it._

 

“What’s our finish line look like?” Dean blurted out, hands clenched on the steering wheel so tightly it actually hurt. He realized he was bracing himself for his brother’s answer and released each finger a little in turn.

 

“What?” Sam asked, side-eyeing his brother but not quite putting down his paperback all the way.

 

Dean swallowed, suddenly nervous to actually follow through and have this conversation, but then he’d been worrying over the subject on his own for close to a thousand miles. “You were saying earlier, about Jesse and Cesar, that they were two hunters who got to the finish line. Just wondering if you ever think about what ours will be?”

 

“Sure I do,” Sam said, closing his paperback over a bookmark and turning his whole body to face Dean. “All the time.”

 

“And?” Dean prompted, gesturing with one hand for Sam to get on with it when he didn’t say anything more.

 

“And I don’t ever talk about it, because I know you won’t like it,” Sam said, looking down at his hands clenched together in his lap.

 

“Try me,” Dean said, placing one of his hands over Sam’s clenched ones, his brother’s fingers felt so strong but still so elegant and delicate. But right now Sam was using that strength to hold back from saying whatever it was he thought Dean wouldn’t want to hear.

 

“No, no way, man, I’m not interested in starting that conversation. It’ll just end up in the usual fight,” Sam said, unclenching his own hands and trapping Dean’s hand in-between them.

 

“Old married couple fighting, it’s what we do, Sammy,” Dean said with a laugh, twining his fingers through Sam’s, relishing the connection of their bodies while they both struggled to get the words out that needed to be said. Sam wasn’t smiling at that, and he should have been, maybe this was something he didn’t want to hear?

 

Sam rolled his eyes but was unable to keep his smile hidden which immediately soothed Dean’s worry. If Sam was smiling, then he was still in the clear— _probably._

 

“Fine, but remember, you were warned,” Sam said with a sharply pointing finger.

 

“I’m all ears,” Dean said, grabbing for that pointy finger so he could wrap Sam’s hand up in his, trying to keep one eye on the road since he was still driving.

 

“No, you’re really just all mouth,” Sam corrected.

 

“But you love me anyway,” Dean teased, heart swooping with the casual way he’d just thrown the ‘l’ word out there for anyone to mock. Not that Sam would of course, but it wasn’t a word Dean was in the habit of tossing around so casually. _What had gotten into him anyway?_ Probably a little bit of jealousy at seeing Jesse and Cesar with their future laid out ahead of them.

 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Sam said in a serious tone that made Dean’s heart skip several beats in what felt like a good way, but one he was pretty much unaccustomed to experiencing. This was why he didn’t ask questions like this in the first place.

 

Dean sputtered and felt himself flush red as usual which he hated. Because it meant his defenses would go up automatically, and Sam would know that. But he wanted what Sam was about to drop in his lap in answer to his question. He could practically see Sam telling himself: _Well, he asked for it._

 

Sam took a deep breath and seemed to settle himself. “I see our finish line as you and me, alive, together, retired, no more hunting, no injuries, in a place somewhere out in the country, maybe near a small town, hopefully by some water. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten with the details.”

 

“So, no law school and two point five kids for you then?” Dean asked.

 

“What? No!” Sam exclaimed.

 

“Isn’t that where you were heading with Amelia?” Dean asked.

 

“Don’t bring all that up again, that’s pretty much got nothing to do with what I want or where I am now.”

 

“Which is where exactly?” Dean asked.

 

“In case you hadn't noticed, sitting right here next to you, as usual. Thought that was how you wanted it to be, unless I’ve misunderstood you the times when you’ve said that,” Sam untangled their hands and turned away to look out his window.

 

Dean blushed again, remembering those few times he’d laid his heart open to Sam. He hated that he still got embarrassed about this stuff. He realized that he needed to be looking at Sam to say what he needed to say, so he pulled over on the side of the two-lane highway. The tall grasses and wildflowers waved in the wind of the passing cars. He shut the engine off, un-clicked his seatbelt and turned to face Sam.

 

“It is, Sammy. It is absolutely what I want,” Dean said, eyes tracing the face of the one person in the world who knew what that meant. Sam smiled at him then and Dean’s heart did that little hiccup at seeing the love on his brother’s face.

 

“But you don’t think I should want that too, do you?” Sam asked with a sadness he couldn’t hide.

 

“I…I always think you could do a lot better than me. And I worry you’re sticking around out of guilt or something useless like that.”

 

Sam’s mouth opened and stayed open. He sat there gaping like a fish, breathing heavily through his nose. His mouth finally snapped shut and his expression was as dark as the gathering thunderstorm darkening the sky behind them.

 

“How in any universe could you possibly think either of those things? I swear to all the gods and goddesses, Dean, your blind spot on this is the most frustrating thing about you, and that’s really saying something.”

 

“What blind spot?” Dean joked at him in reflexive self-defense.

 

Sam sighed, one of those put-upon, oh-poor-me sighs that made Dean grit his teeth because he knew it meant Sam was disappointed in him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, staring straight ahead through the windshield at the cars passing by them on the highway.

 

“For what?” Sam asked.

 

“You were right, I shouldn’t have brought the whole thing up in the first place,” Dean said.

 

“No, I was wrong. All wrong, like usual. I’ve obviously failed to get this across to you well enough. I’ll admit that it was true at some point that I wanted something else, but that was a long time ago. And what we’ve been through and survived together, it’s changed me. You know that, right? You’ve seen it up close and personal when you’ve had to glue me back together.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean grudgingly admitted.

 

“So, because of all that, I treasure what we have even more than I can just say. It means so much to me that you want to be with me even after all the ways I’ve failed you.”

 

“You’ve never ever failed me, Sammy, not once, not ever. Guess that’s your blind spot.”

 

“But…” Sam said, gearing up for some no-doubt overblown explanation.

 

Dean interrupted, “No—no buts allowed here, it’s true. I’ve been disappointed sometimes, or hurt at some of your decisions, sure. But that’s not failing me, that’s being your own person.”

 

“But all those times you’ve thrown my ‘decisions’ back in my face, what was that about?” Sam asked.

 

“Uh…I guess that was just me lashing out when I was hurt, because I’m an immature asshole that can’t express myself,” Dean said with a shrug.

 

“What do you call this conversation then? I think you’re doing pretty damn well.”

 

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

 

“Uh huh,” Sam said with a nod that made his hair fall across his face, covering his eyes in that effortlessly pretty way that always twisted the edges of Dean’s heart.

 

Dean reached out and tucked Sam’s hair behind his ear, waiting for him to meet his eyes. “So, our finish line, sounds pretty good, just needs one more thing if you ask me.”

 

“Let me guess, more bacon?” Sam asked with a one-sided grin.

 

“Duh, obviously, we always need more bacon. But we’re gonna need something to do, to make a living, right?” Dean asked, hand still on Sam’s neck, rubbing his fingers along the edge of his shirt collar.

 

Sam pressed back into Dean’s hand like he was soaking up that feeling from the minor connection of their skin. “You’re right, we don’t have anything saved up to live on, and if we’re staying in one place, credit card scams aren’t going to cut it.”

 

“I’m thinking something online, maybe selling antique weapons, or books,” Dean said.

 

“Selling off the stuff in the bunker, you mean?” Sam asked, eyebrows raising.

 

“I was thinking we’d start out with the stuff in Sinclair’s place first. After we get through with selling all that off, I bet there’s at least some stuff in the bunker that we wouldn’t miss too much.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows raised even higher.

 

Dean nodded to himself, encouraged at the plan coming together, imagining how it would go. "Yeah, we don’t need to keep everything hidden away to ourselves, right? We shouldn’t keep it all stashed like it is now. We could even sell a few of those vintage cars to get ourselves started, it’s not like those are worth anything to us beyond making the garage look full.”

 

“Can I at least keep the motorcycle?” Sam asked.

 

“Of course, as long as you wear your helmet every time you take her out, even though it messes with your hair,” Dean said.

 

“Will you come for rides with me?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says. “I’ll ride bitch sometimes, why not?”

 

***

 

Looking back on things, Dean thought that his suggestion of selling off some of the treasures in Cuthbert Sinclair’s place was the first mistake he’d made. Because that meant having to go back inside the place. The one where he’d almost been trapped as the newest resident in the dude’s fucked-up zoo. He hadn’t ever told Sam what the guy had said to him, how he’d touched him in that possessive way that had made his skin crawl. Or about the spell he’d put him under that had drained his will, along with all his independent thoughts. It had been almost worse than bearing the Mark.

 

Remembering all Magnus (that stupid-ass name Cuthbert had so grandly bestowed upon himself, marginally better than Cuthbert) had done to him, helped Dean rationalize how easy it had been to chop the guy’s head off with the First Blade. He recalled how that strange red haze had come over him, the world going indistinct and wavering, the only thing that was still real in the whole damn world had been Sam’s voice. The only thing that had stopped him was Sam and his rock-solid belief in his power to overcome the Mark.

 

Today as he went back into the magical passageway with Sam, back down into Magnus’ place, it brought all of this back up in an instant that took his breath away, it hit him with such force and intensity. And as a result, he went quiet, as he struggled to keep it inside, keep it all to himself, becoming so unusually silent that—of course, Sam noticed.

 

As they riffled through the storage rooms and libraries, Dean could tell Sam was watching him closely. He tried to joke a little more, tried to be upbeat and annoying like he usually would be in a situation like this. He hoped that his antics would put Sam off the scent of his internal dysfunction, but his little brother knew him too well. When they stopped to eat lunch in the beautifully appointed dining room, he counted down the seconds until Sam would finally ask about what was bothering him.

 

He’d just put the last big chunk of his roast beef sandwich into his mouth when Sam finally spoke.

 

“It’s weird being back in this place, isn’t it?” Sam asked, fiddling with his paper napkin but obviously searching Dean’s face to gauge his reaction to the question.

 

Dean pretended he needed to keep chewing and nodded, not quite meeting Sam’s eyes. He squirmed in the fancy carved oak chair, ashamed at knowing that he was behaving like the preschooler he probably looked like at the moment.

 

“It’s a lot bigger in here than I remembered it being, I really like how much light most of the rooms get. He certainly planned it out well, to be livable in here I mean,” Sam said into the prolonged silence.

 

Dean shrugged, trying not to remember how well he knew this place. “You weren’t in here very long the first time, it gets to you pretty quickly.” Instead of looking at Sam he shredded the sandwich wrap paper into a pile of bits in front of him.

 

“You know how we were talking about finding a place to live? The whole finish line discussion from earlier?” Sam asked, voice a little hesitant, but his eyes so hopeful. Dean couldn’t stop himself from soaking up how Sam looked when he was hopeful, so damn beautiful it almost—almost made him feel the same way.

 

“Yeah,” Dean answered, dreading what was coming next, hopeful or not, this was going to be tough.

 

“How about settling down in this place? It’s already ours, so that’s a big plus as far as the money situation goes. It’d probably be even safer in here than the bunker,” Sam suggested. “Not as many demons and angels know about the place, and we know how good with warding and spells Magnus was."

 

“Oh hell no, no way, that is not happening, we are never living here,” Dean said, standing up so abruptly that the solid oak chair fell over with a crash. He stalked out of the room knowing he was just going to have apologize and explain himself later to Sam but not caring past the initial burst of _No_ in the moment. He couldn’t think about living here. Not here in this place where he was going to be trapped forever with the memories of that creep. He crashed through several doorways and locked the last one behind him, wanting to be alone with this for a bit before he’d have to explain himself to Sam.

 

Magnus was dead, he’d chopped the guy’s head off himself, Dean reminded himself as he paced the small room, memories and feelings whirling through his head at a sickening speed. The dude was burned to ashes and gone forever. Anything Magnus had wanted to do to Dean was over with, done, gone, it wasn’t ever happening…

 

_except for how it was always happening in his mind_

 

…nothing had ever happened between them except in Magnus’ sick imagination and in the ugly words he’d spewed in Dean’s face. But what he’d threatened had seemed so possible, so real at the time.

 

Dean kept pacing the room, and reminded himself, he was here today with Sam, not with Magnus or even Crowley for that matter. He was here with Sam, who was his finish line, his reason for even still being here living this life, or any life for that matter.

 

Dean shivered as he remembered the touch of Magnus’ hand on his face, how he’d caressed him, cooing about how they’d have plenty of time to get to know each other much more intimately. The dark red rage of the Mark had helped to erase all of these memories back then, but that was gone now, thanks to Sam. Now that he was here, the memories were too, they were right there in his head now, spooling through one after the other, unstoppable.

 

All the sick pictures Magnus had painted with his words, all those gory details about how Dean would be displayed, contained and controlled, used for as long as Magnus wanted him. How he’d try him out with the rest of his menagerie, film everything (for research purposes of course) and how the films might be worth something. The hunter and the vampire, wouldn’t that be a top seller in the niche porn markets that were out there. There were always collectors, consumers for that sort of thing. Dean was going to make Magnus happy here finally, there would be a purpose to having done all of this. Magnus had escaped the debacle of the collapse of the Men of Letters and having Dean all to himself was going to be his reward.

 

Even though the red rage of the Mark was gone, the silky purr of the attraction and pull that Amara had over him was still accessible. It was something else to concentrate on, to help forget Magnus, even in here. He imagined Amara gliding into this very room, her hair moving in sensual swirls as if she had her own personal wind. He could see her power arcing through Magnus, ripping his hands away from Dean, pinning him against the wall instead. Amara’s power was choking Magnus…his stupid round face turning red then purple, fading to white and grey as he died in agony.

 

"I'll always save you, Dean. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” he could hear someone say. It had to be Amara, her words worming their way through his body, invading him in all the vulnerable places he only ever allowed Sam in to touch him.

 

Sam…no that was who he was hearing, not Amara…oh thank god, Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean opened his eyes and met his brother’s, worried and dark with fear, brow furrowed with the extra line that always meant trouble. Or at least having to tell the full truth.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asked, voice full of hesitation.

Dean pushed himself up and out of Sam's arms, even though all he wanted was to curl up in the shadow of his brother’s protection. But he couldn’t right then, the price would be much too high. Sam would want to know all of it, and he couldn’t just lay that on him. It wasn’t fair, and it didn’t make sense anyway. In the scheme of things his trauma about Magnus really didn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter one fucking bit (but it did). He’d survived Hell and all the rest, and to let a colossal dick like Magnus get to him like this, it just wan’t acceptable. It wasn’t okay, and it wasn’t how he did things.

“Was it Amara again?” Sam asked in a careful voice, because of course that’s what he’d think Dean’s breakdown was about.

Dean nodded, because that was most of the truth. That was the real thing that they were dealing with in the here and now. Not the memories of the maybes and almost-happened that he ought to be able to put behind him. It didn’t end up happening, so it shouldn’t bother him, right? Amara was more invasive, more powerful than Magnus could have ever hoped to be, but she was also so big, so infinite she was nearly unreal. Magnus was man-sized, comprehensible, and very very real. Even though the asshole was dead, really truly dead. Maybe in Dean’s brain, it was a more realistic fear for him to focus on. Or it was just a reminder of that powerlessness he’d felt back then, even with the Mark, that being under someone else’s control was the thing he always feared the most.

“So, if you’re dreaming about Amara or whatever that just was, then we’re not safe from her down in here either?” Sam asked.

“It wasn’t that kind of thing, just a dream that I came up with on my own, it wasn’t from her or anything. But you know, I don’t think there’s anywhere that could work to keep her out, doesn’t matter what the wards or spells are on the place,” Dean said, surprised at how utterly tired he felt. “She’s God’s freakin’ sister, remember?” 

Sam didn’t say anything for a very long time, just kept the same distance between them, like he was worried about invading Dean’s personal space bubble too quickly. All Dean wanted to do at that point was to fall into Sam’s arms and try to forget all of this crap.

“Listen, I’m really tired, and I know you are too. Let’s find somewhere to bunk down for the night in here instead of driving. It’s at least an hour to the nearest town and I’ll admit I'm not up to sleeping in the car,” Sam said.

The last thing Dean wanted was to spend a whole night stuck in here, but he knew Sam was right. And after all that thrashing and angsting, he sure as hell wasn’t up for driving. And he really wasn’t up for explaining why he didn’t want to sleep here. That was a whole conversation he’d really rather avoid if at all possible.

“Guess we could crash out on the leather couches in the main room,” Dean offered instead of telling Sam all that.

“I found a couple of bedrooms down that hall—“ Sam said.

“No, I’m not sleeping in any of the beds, who knows what that Magnus guy did in here,” Dean interrupted.

“What makes you say that?” Sam asked.

“He…it was some of the stuff he said when you and Crowley were gone.”

Sam’s eyes widened with sudden realization, and the bottom of Dean’s stomach felt like it had fallen out of his body onto the floor. _Shit_ , now Sam knew or at least suspected his real objections to staying in this place. 

“Leather couches it is, but I’m going to go find us some blankets at least, okay?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded, grateful that Sam wasn’t pushing him right away, but Sam would ask him before the night was over, that much he knew for sure. He found the bathroom and got himself ready to try and get some sleep, as fruitless as that might be, he had to try, otherwise Sam’s questions would hit him much sooner.

Entering the living room area, he noticed the only light was now coming from an arrangement of candles on the low table near the couches. Sam was stretched out on one couch, already down to just his boxer briefs. The candlelight licked along the planes and edges of his body, caressing them, highlighting all the beauty that Sam kept hidden under his usual hunter’s uniform of baggy clothes. Dean leaned against one of the pillars and let himself look his fill, Sam was unaware of his presence and was smiling as he stared into the flames of the candles. Dean was curious what Sam could be smiling about when he heard his brother’s low chuckle.

“You seen enough?” Sam teased, stretching his arms over his head.

“Maybe, depends,” Dean answered through a mouth suddenly gone dry at the image of his brother’s body stretching and moving in the candlelight. All the coiled strength and graceful movement, all that luscious soft skin practically begging to be caressed. 

Sam chuckled again as Dean began stalking over to stop behind the couch Sam was occupying. Dean’s hand, unbidden, acting on instinct, gently stroked along Sam’s side, feeling every dip and curve, tracing the ridges of his ribs, the jut of his collarbone, the point of his chin. Sam shivered and bit at Dean’s hand when it came close enough to his mouth. He held his teeth on the meat of Dean’s thumb and growled in the back of his throat.

“Ticklish?” Dean murmured.

“No, just want more,” Sam said through his teeth, still not letting go of Dean’s hand.

“Stop biting me then,” Dean said.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Sam teased, opening his mouth and letting Dean’s hand fall away. 

Dean leaned over the back of the couch and pulled Sam up into an embrace, taking his mouth forcefully, no tickling here, more like plundering, having his way, enjoying the feeling of Sam melting in his arms from how good Dean was making him feel. How different this was, how completely opposite to how it would have been with Magnus (shudder), or Amara for that matter (infinite shudder). Choosing to give the other person pleasure, instead of just being controlled and taken ‘from’ made all the difference. 

The back and forth between them, the trading of dominance was everything he needed and wanted right then. Sam gave him his all, and that was enough to get Dean out of his head enough to push through his fears and get over staying here. Sam always knew, the little shit, always knew exactly what he needed to get over himself. 

“You always just know somehow, what I need, before I even do,” Dean said as they finally broke apart to take a breath.

“Of course I do, you’re mine, that’s how it’s supposed to be,” Sam said.

“No, Sammy, it’s not just that, it’s…I can’t explain it,” Dean said, giving up on trying to express all the thoughts swirling around in his head. Magnus’ creepy smirk morphing into Amara’s triumphant smile and all the feelings they had ever triggered in him flying away into something he wanted to empty a whole clip into, kill it dead and never have to think about it again.

“Try,” Sam said, encouraging and warm. He pulled Dean over the back of the couch and somehow had him wrapped up in his arms on his lap, safe and in the shadow of his protection, just like how Dean had wanted earlier. Sam always knew.

  
“Like this, how you’re holding me right now? That’s how you were holding me when I woke up from the Amara thing earlier, and I had wanted to just stay there. And you’re doing it again, without me even asking you to, and I don’t know what it means that you know to do that.”

“Dude, I pay attention to you more than anything else in this whole world. I’m the world’s foremost authority on Dean Winchester, you know? And I may not always get it right, but I try, just like you do with me,” Sam said, squeezing him even tighter in his arms. 

Dean tensed for a moment, toying with resisting, or maybe scrambling off his brother’s lap, getting away from the intimacy of confronting all of this. “I…I didn’t tell you what happened in here—with Magnus,” Dean said. “Back then you were so worried about the First Blade and what I’d almost done, it didn’t seem important. I guess being in here is hard or something. It seems lame, but it’s reminding me of what almost happened, and how similar it is to Amara.”

“Are you talking about the control spell he had you under?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, but not just that, it was the stuff he said and uh…did to me before you and Crowley got back in here. He wanted to keep me trapped in this place, like a pet, another addition to his zoo, or like a sex-slave or something like that.”

“I wouldn’t have let anything like that happen,” Sam growled. He pulled Dean into his body, holding him even closer. “I’m sorry that he said all that, the guy was a complete and raging asshole.”

Dean shuddered at the memory, even being held in Sam’s arms it still seemed so immediate, he could call up the memory of it so clearly. The worst part was that he couldn’t stop the memory from crashing over him, again and again. He had been right over there—stuck _right there_ against that very pillar. Magnus had touched him over and over again, laughing at his body’s response. And he couldn’t do anything, and it wasn’t okay, and he didn’t want it, and he couldn’t get away, couldn’t stop it.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, shaking Dean’s shoulders. “Dean, please, you gotta snap out of it!”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, felt the last tears trickle down his cheeks and buried his face in Sam’s chest, wiping his wet face on his brother’s soft skin. “I don’t know why…but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“It was more than him just talking to you, wasn’t it?” Sam asked, as softly as he could probably manage, but still with that underlying threat behind it where he was maybe going to level the whole damn world with his anger. 

That implied threat made Dean feel so damn safe he didn’t even know where to begin to put that feeling or somehow acknowledge it. Dean couldn’t speak, so he just nodded, the movement smearing his tears into his own cheek and into Sam’s chest.

“I think it would help if you told me the whole thing. Get it all out of your mind, just say it—straight out. It won’t change how I feel about you, whatever it is, I promise. Please, let me help you, Dean,” Sam said, holding Dean closer than close, one hand firm on his waist the other wrapped over his shoulder, hand brushing gently along his jaw. 

Dean soaked up the gentle touches from his brother, and let himself breathe in time with Sam, waiting until their heartbeats had both calmed down. The shush-shushing of Sam’s heart vibrating through his chest a reassuring backdrop, that sound he’d charted over the course of their life together.

Dean took a deep breath and spoke in a quick, inflectionless monotone. “He had me under that control spell, and he touched me all over. Wherever he could reach under my clothes with his soft, disgusting hands. They were all over my skin, it made me want to vomit and scream. But I had no control, not over my body, or my will. It was like I was trapped inside a cage deep inside my own body. He laughed this horrible triumphant squealing laugh in my face when my body responded. He kept on doing it while he told me all the things he would do to me while he kept me in his zoo. He told me how he’d make me fuck all the creatures he had here, how he’d film them and make a fortune out of hunter creature porn.” 

“Oh god, Dean, that fucker, ’m so sorry,” Sam said, holding Dean and kissing along the top of his head. 

Dean could feel the tension in his brother, the anger radiating off of him was comforting in its familiarity, just knowing Sam would have torn Magnus apart if he’d still been alive made him feel better enough that he could continue.

“And he made me…he was just starting to make me touch him, when you and Crowley showed up. I could see what my hands were doing, could feel it, and it was like they were someone else’s hands and mine at the same time. And the Mark was struggling to overcome the spell, everything was going red and I couldn’t hear anything right.”

“When you sliced his head off like that, I knew there was something more going on. But I thought it was just the Mark and the First Blade,” Sam said.

“I almost killed you, Sammy. You don't know how close I came….” Dean trailed off, unable to complete the thought or the sentence.

“I do though, I saw you, Dean. I saw how you fought inside yourself and beat it, how you saved me from it. It was fucking amazing, I was really proud of you,” Sam said, pulling them apart, probably so he could look at Dean’s face.

Instead of hiding himself, Dean looked at him in surprise to hear something like that. He sure as hell didn’t feel amazing or someone to be proud of at the moment. He felt like a weak, whining asshole going on and on about all this petty stuff. He closed his eyes against Sam’s smile, not wanting to accept the compliment. He wasn’t worthy of it, or Sam for that matter, he never really had been. Never would be.

“You know, it was the same thing, when you killed Death instead of me. I knew it was a possibility that the Mark would win. But deep down, I hoped what you felt for me was stronger. And it was. Just like when I beat Lucifer.”

“But that was you being a fucking hero, Sam.”

“No, that was the power of what we have together winning over the eons of planning from Heaven and Hell. Just like you used it, beating the Mark of Cain and it is how we’ll end up beating Amara.”

Dean was silent for a long moment as he absorbed Sam’s positive spin on their history and possible future. “Maybe, but why do I feel so damn shitty being in this place when nothing really happened?”

“It’s reminding you of being sexually assaulted, Dean. I’m pretty sure it would do that to absolutely anybody who’d survived the same thing. And being here probably brings up all the shit you’re feeling about Amara controlling you. But I’m here, and I’m not going to let her or anyone else get to you like that again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, you know better than that,” Dean scolded. “But thanks anyway.”

“Hey, I just had a thought. You want to do a banishing ritual before we try and get some sleep tonight?” Sam asked.

“But we burned Magnus, he's not haunting this place or anything,” Dean said.

“No, but the memories of what happened here are haunting you the same way a spirit would. The banishing ritual might help get your mind to let it go a little bit,” Sam said.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try it,” Dean mumbled, pretty sure it wouldn’t do a damn thing, but needing to say yes to Sam to get him to let this go for now.

Sam kissed the top of his head and Dean felt his heart crumple with the tenderness of it, he felt itchy all over from all the care-taking and drama. He stood up abruptly, holding himself, hands wrapped around his own elbows. 

His brother watched him for a long moment before sitting up and rummaging in his bag next to the couch. He came up with a sage bundle and a large black feather. Sam handed him the feather and scooped up one of the candle plates to hold under the sage bundle once it was burning. 

“This thing is really big, where’d this come from?” Dean asked, holding the feather between two fingers and swooshing it through the air.

“One of the ravens left it for me by the bunker, I take their offerings when they’re given,” Sam said as he leaned forward to light the sage in the nearest candle flame.

Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything, just watched his brother as he lit the sage, holding it steady in the candle’s burning flame.

“I think it’ll work better if you actually do the whole thing yourself. I’ll walk you through it first, if you want,” Sam said, looking up at Dean with that inscrutable gaze that always left him feeling as if he’d been measured very precisely.

“I just wave this thing around or what?” Dean asked, taking the now smoking sage bundle from Sam and testing out a small spiral of the fragrant smoke in the air over Sam’s head.

Sam breathed in the sage smoke and smiled up at Dean. “Yeah, pretty much. There’s some words you can say, but they’re not necessary. Like with so much of magic, it’s all about intention.”

“What’s my intention supposed to be here?” Dean asked, genuinely confused about why he was going to be wafting sage smoke around this place. It kind of seemed pointless.

“Start with what you want to get rid of, acknowledge it, and then banish it. Then ask for only good things to come in to replace it,” Sam said.

Dean nodded and began to think hard about what he wanted to get rid of here. The first thing was the memory of what Magnus had done to him, the loss of control. The fear that he’d be trapped here without Sam forever. He shook himself physically out of the memory, it really went deep. Sam’s hand landed on his shoulder and gently squeezed. That’s what he wanted to replace all the shit with, Sam and his raven feather offerings, sage bundles, and geeky researching of banishing spells.

“Got it,” Dean finally said, opening his eyes and taking in the concern on his brother’s face made him try his best to smile.

Sam seemed to get enough reassurance from the smile that felt tenuous and removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder, handing him the candle plate. “Just keep this under the sage bundle so nothing gets burned. There’s a lot of paper in this place. Start going room to room, counter-clockwise into all the spaces, thinking about what you’re banishing. Then do the same clockwise while thinking about what you’re bringing in.”

“Stay here, okay?” Dean said, suddenly embarrassed at what he was doing, even if it was Sam’s idea. He didn’t necessarily want Sam watching him the whole time.

Sam nodded, obviously picking up on Dean’s embarrassment, he sat back down onto the couch and put his feet up on the table near the candles. “I’ll be here when you get back.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean made his way to the entry hall, where most of the interaction with Magnus had happened. He spent a lot of time waving smoke around the column that he’d been pinned to, as well as the one Sam had been stuck up against. There was still a big dent in the wall from where he’d thrown Magnus, they’d cleaned up all the blood and removed the body, but hadn’t bothered to make any actual repairs. That would be a thing he could do, just like he had in the bunker, physically fixing walls and doors had been a good thing, cathartic even.

Dean made himself picture it all in his mind one last time, let himself feel how he’d felt about what he’d done or had done to him. He breathed in the smoke and pictured letting it all go, the weight of all the shit leaving him slowly, unhooking the tendrils buried deep down in his psyche where he kept all the self-loathing bottled up and hidden even from himself. He felt it all unknotting and almost felt like he’d physically vomit. Just in time he remembered that he was in control here, he was the one doing the ritual, the one that was still alive. That small triumph was enough to get him over the hump, to let it go (mostly) and move on to the other rooms.

Heading back down the hall towards Sam, he felt lighter inside and out, and thought about what it would be like to live here, in this space with his brother. How they’d use all the many rooms, this one was where Sam would probably set up his study space, and he was impressed with how much nicer this kitchen was compared to the bunker’s, more modern and well-equipped. The bedrooms were bigger and the walls weren’t just cement brick but all nicely finished. Sure the place was en-spelled and magicked up the wazoo, but it was a nicer space.

The bunker’s impressive main room was great and all, but it was always too cold in there for both of them. The pros and cons list was beginning to stack up in favor of this place as an option, it was always good to have more than one, a lesson always drilled into him relentlessly by their father. He pictured the relief on Sam’s face when he’d hear the good news and that brought him back to the living room. Sam was stretched out on the couch again, looking just as delectable as he had a little while ago.

Dean felt the curl of desire rekindle and there wasn’t any of the desperation to avoid all the other crap he’d been worrying about. The banishing ritual had apparently worked, he felt clean inside.

“You feeling better?” Sam asked, not opening his eyes.

“Yeah, thanks for the idea, I wouldn’t have thought of it,” Dean said, stubbing out the sage bundle in the plate and setting it down next to the lit candles. He quickly shed his clothes into an untidy pile and sat next to Sam on the couch, hips touching. Dean ran one hand up over Sam’s torso, and leaned over to kiss him. Sam murmured and hmmm’d his pleasure, wrapping Dean up in his arms and pulling him up to lay on top of his outstretched form. They lost themselves in kissing, Dean would never get enough of his brother’s lips, it wasn’t possible. The curl of desire grew even more and Dean couldn’t contain himself much longer.

“Want you, Sammy,” Dean said, pinning Sam’s hands over his head at the end of the long leather couch.

“Want you too, Dean, always,” Sam said, wrapping his legs around Dean’s hips.

Dean started a grinding thrust down into Sam, reveling in the way they still fit together after all these years. He slid a hand down between them, and grasped Sam tightly, using the slick wetness to jack him slow and purposeful.

“What do you want, Dean?” Sam managed to ask between long drawn-out moans. “It’s all up to you tonight.”

“Everything, same as always,” Dean said.

Sam laughed, breathless and sexy in his ear. “It’s on the table.”

Dean fumbled on the table near the candles for the tube of lube Sam had set there. Sam just always knew. He pressed slicked up fingers into himself, scissoring them quickly. Then he sat back on his heels and warmed up more lube on his fingers before pressing them into Sam’s opening. Sam growled and then nearly purred at the intrusion. Dean grinned as Sam’s body let him inside, welcoming him in with muscular twitches, he pressed deeper and Sam’s eyes closed while he moaned with pleasure.

“Dean, please, c’mon,” Sam whined, hips thrusting up so that Dean’s fingers slid in even more.

Dean pulled them out and slicked himself up and quickly took over the space he’d made inside of Sam. He thrust in and out in a slow relentless rhythm, loving every scratch Sam left on his back, every moan he felt pass between their lips. When they were both at the point where it was about to be over, he pulled out sudden and almost painful.

Sam gasped at the loss of contact, and his eyes widened as he watched Dean straddle his hips. He held his cock steady so Dean could lower himself down onto it.

“Sammy, come with me, c’mon, fill me up, make me yours,” Dean said.

He felt his brother’s hands around his hips tighten, holding him in place as Sam pounded up into him at a furious pace. He held onto the back of the couch and watched as the man he loved came apart inside him. Sam got a hand around him, stroking only a few times before Dean came between them, slicking their stomachs with his release.

Sam grabbed his hand and guided his fingers to smear his own come into Sam’s skin. “I’m yours too.”

Dean ran a finger over Sam’s bottom lip with the last of it and leaned down to kiss him, feeding his answer into Sam’s mouth. “I’m always yours, Sammy. You’re always mine.” And that was the reminder that he’d needed, even though he was Sam’s, he was still always in charge of what happened to his own body. (Because they both know how that went).

After a long few quiet minutes, bodies still pressed together, Sam began shifting underneath him making uncomfortable noises but still refusing to let him go. Dean moved so that Sam slipped out of him, and he finally pushed himself up to sitting. Sam was sprawled beneath him, practically melted into the leather of the couch, hair a glorious messy tangle, his lips red and kiss swollen like they should always be.

“C’mon, let’s go sleep in a real bed tonight, huh?” Dean said, standing up on slightly unsteady legs and holding a hand out for Sam. They chose one of the bedrooms, not the one that had obviously been occupied by Magnus, its large canopied bed was ridiculously ornate, but it was comfortable. And best of all, it had Sam in it.

***

He was alone, walking, on a high cliff above the sea, he could hear it crashing onto the rocks below but it was too dark to see clearly. There was only a sliver of moon in the night sky above. He heard the sounds of indistinct movement behind him, then footsteps quickly approaching, he began to run, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him before he could get away. It pressed harder and harder still, bruise tight, he couldn’t get away, couldn’t see who it was, then the person grabbing him spoke.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? I mean, I knew hunters were basically just apes, but that’s pretty dumb, a little burning sage and what…poof…I’m gone. I don’t think so,” Magnus growled in his ear.

Dean tried to turn enough to face him, to be able to lash out and strike him. But then the hand gripping his shoulder seemed to become smaller, sharper, but somehow even more powerful. “He’s nothing to worry about, Dean. I’m all you’re ever going to need, and that’s a promise,” Amara purred into his ear.

He screamed and flailed, trying to get away, desperate enough that he’d be willing to fling himself off the cliff into the sea rather than be taken over by her. “No, no I won’t, no!” He struck out at Amara and was falling…falling…down.

Dean’s eyes shot open just after he landed on the floor, panting with the terror filling his heart. Sam flicked on the bedside lamp and peered over the edge of the bed down at him.

“You okay?” Sam asked, holding out a hand for Dean to pull himself up with.

Dean took Sam’s hand and crawled back up into the warm bed, and into the safe circle of Sam’s arms. He concentrated on slowing his breathing until it matched the slow up and down movement of Sam’s broad chest.

  
“You were screaming, no, I won’t. Was it Amara again?” Sam finally asked.

“Yeah, same ol’, same ol’,” Dean finally said.

“Why don’t we get some breakfast going, and figure out a plan for how to catalog the last stuff in this place so we can get going back home today?”

Dean nodded against Sam’s chest, letting himself revel in the feeling of the scratchy hair against his cheek, the scent of Sam’s skin filling his senses to push the remnants of the nightmare away. He sat up first and stretched

After breakfast, while they were obsessively cataloging the remainder of the stuff in the hideaway for future sale or use, well it seemed obsessive to Dean, he was on the last shelf in the library that hadn’t been examined yet. Back in the darkest corner was a dented and scuffed metal box. When he brought it up into the light he saw that it had hex marking in some sort of red paint all across the surface. It reminded him of some of the hex boxes that his dad had kept in his old storage lockers. Shrugging off the memories of his father before opening it, he had the thing opened up, and the contents dumped on the table in a matter of seconds. All that tumbled out was a small carved wooden box that seemed pretty innocuous.

He sat down at the table and considered how to proceed, he used a bandana to pick the box up and shook it several times, he heard something metal rattling inside. He found the hidden hinge release and used a pen to open it to find a large brass locket. He used the same pen to touch the locket, moving it around until he was able to open the door, finding that it was empty in the center. The space behind the small locket door was a vaguely familiar shape, but he couldn’t quite place it. Intrigued by the strange locket, Dean dug deeper into the wooden box and came up with a small parchment booklet that had been tucked in the lid. It was hand inked in a beautiful flowing script. Thank goodness it was in English for once, so he didn’t have to ask for translation help from Sam, and it even had a Men of Letters’ file system number on the front.

According to what he read in the booklet, the locket would keep Amara away from him if he wore it at all times. She would no longer have any ability to contact him, invade his dreams, command his body, or most importantly, absorb his soul. But, unfortunately, one of the very last things in the booklet was a clear illustration, a diagram of how to make the thing actually work. The locket was shown with its little door open and empty inside. Several arching arrows pointed into the empty space leading from a perfect illustration of his old amulet. There were also some angel feathers required. But his eyes couldn’t move from the familiar old face looking up at him from the page. The thing needed the God juice from his old amulet to power it up so that it would work. Years ago, he’d thrown away the very solution to his problem himself.

Dean knew the moment Sam noticed how still he’d just gone, he was frozen in his library chair, his eyes wide open in surprise and something that probably looked like some combination of guilt and sadness. He could feel Sam pad up behind him quietly and guessed he’d be looking over Dean’s shoulder to see what he was reading. Sam couldn’t hold in his surprised intake of breath when he looked at the diagram that clearly showed Dean’s amulet being inserted into the locket case, angel feathers floating around it, blessing it with a bit of God’s grace to counteract Amara’s power.

Dean still hadn’t said anything at this point, he was vaguely aware that he was sitting there still as a statue, hands gripping the diagram and the empty locket. He knew that he needed to speak up, to at least voice his surprise, verbalize his thrill at finding the right thing, the needle in the proverbial haystack. This locket was something that might actually help keep Amara away from him. But they were missing the one important thing to make it work because he’d tossed the thing in a motel trashcan all those years ago.

His eyes kept getting drawn back to the drawing of his amulet, grinning up at him off the page like it had known all along how much of a screw-up Dean was. So much had turned on that little thing, symbol of his bond with Sam as well as of the dissolution of their relationship during the Apocalypse. All of it was his fault, all that destruction for nothing, just because he’d been pissed at what they’d seen in their Heaven. Now that he knew it was all an angel manipulation, he’d do it all differently. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Sam, wouldn’t have held the thing over the wastebasket by the cord to make sure Sam saw it being tossed away. But it was gone, long gone, just because he’d been a little bitch about things, acting out, giving up, throwing the thing away just to get back at Sam in the moment. It served him right, not having the one thing he really needed to have a chance against Amara.

He barely even noticed Sam leaving the hideaway with a mumbled “be right back” and Dean felt the depth of the loss all over again, deep in his gut where all that hurt had been stashed away all this time. He’d never dealt with it, just kept it in reserve because he hadn’t had anywhere else to put it. He’d never apologized for doing that to Sam, and somehow Sam had forgiven him, moved past it. And that wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair to Sam. He remembered saying to that high school girl that had been performing in the play about their lives that he hadn’t needed a symbol to remind him of what Sam meant to him. But apparently he did, like right now. And wasn’t that just how his life had always gone.

***

Sam quickly found Dean’s amulet in the one hiding place he had kept to himself in their car, under the false bottom in the glovebox he’d carved out long ago. He’d always figured Dean knew about it, but along with several concert tickets from their teenage years, the amulet was still in there, untouched since that horrible day he’d put it in there after he’d picked it up out of the trashcan. He had wrapped it up in his old red bandana so it wouldn’t cause a new rattle Dean would have instantly noticed.

Holding it in his hands for the first time he remembered how his heart had broken so completely, how it had felt so permanent and direly final. But he’d always been a hopeless romantic, and even more importantly he had just found out that they were soulmates so he’d kept the thing. Not ever imagining using it again, or ever letting Dean know it was there in the car with them all along. But now he had to, and his belly filled with dread about how Dean would react, having to wear this thing again, having to know that Sam had kept it.

He came back inside to find Dean smashing up the personal stuff that Magnus had left behind, slashing his stupid uptight period clothing with his knife and ripping apart the bedclothes in a flurry of down feathers. Sam stood in the doorway watching the violence pour out of his brother and tried to understand what he was muttering under his breath. He’d thought Dean had gotten this all out of his system last night when they’d talked about Magnus’ assault. Maybe there were still some lingering issues that Dean hadn’t shared with him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Dean finally saw him, and let go of the pillow he’d been slashing.

“You about done in here?” Sam asked. “I’ve got something you should probably come look at.”

Dean dropped his knife in the middle of the ruined bed and his whole body slumped after all that violence. Sam stepped into the room and slowly pulled Dean into his arms, ready to step back if he didn’t want the contact.

He waited for his brother to say something, but Dean remained silent, the only thing he said was communicated with how his body melded into Sam’s without protest. Sam rubbed his brother’s back gently and tried to think of how to fix this, and about what the chances were that Dean would let it be fixed.

“You need to talk about this some more?” Sam asked into the top of Dean’s head, lips moving against his brother’s spiky hair. He breathed in the familiar smell of the hair products Dean had used for years, beneath it the spicy scent of his skin which always made his mouth water.

“No, that was the last of it,” Dean said, stepping away from Sam’s arms so that they suddenly felt very empty. He watched as Dean shuttered himself off, putting away the messy, tender parts Sam rarely ever got to see.

Once they got back into the library room where the locket and spell book lay on the table, he handed Dean the amulet and a baggie of angel feathers without a word. Dean looked at what was in his hand for a long moment, not saying anything, and Sam felt his heart tighten up with fear. Not for violence but that it would break Dean all over again, but then he smiled up at Sam with a brilliant grin.

*****

Dean clenched the amulet and bag of angel feathers in his hand and felt the joy of knowing that Sam hadn’t ever given up on him back then. That’s what it meant, right? And now, he could maybe survive this Amara thing, all thanks to his amazing, big-hearted brother. “I should have known you’d come through for me, Sammy. Just like you always do,” Dean said, hoping that would be enough and that Sam wouldn’t make him say more. He sank down into the chair holding the amulet in his palm, not able to stop looking at it.

“Let’s see if this works or not, huh?” Sam said with a matching grin, he also looked relieved which seemed strange to Dean.

“Hey, you weren’t worried about how I’d react to seeing this thing were you?” Dean asked, turning in his chair to face Sam. “I always hoped you’d dug it out of the trash, but I was always too scared to ask. That was me worrying about what you’d say since I’d screwed everything up by that point.”

“You didn’t screw up a thing, Dean. Yeah I kept it, and I didn’t give it back to you right away because I was mad about it back then. No, if we’re being honest here, I was way past mad, but you already know that. And then it just never seemed like the right time to put the burden back on you, and we finally got back on track. But it was always there waiting for you.”

“Where was it?” Dean asked, skipping the burden issue, because that was something they’d never agree on and he was exhausted about talking about all this stuff. But did Sam have a hiding place he didn’t know about? How was that even possible?

“That’s going to have to remain my secret if you really don’t know the answer to that,” Sam said with that infuriating little-brother grin he’d perfected over the years.

Sam returned to the library table with a candle plate and a lighter, and Dean quickly performed the ritual in the handbook that came with the locket following the very clear instructions. The amulet slipped right into the locket nestled amongst the angel feather. With them in there it wasn’t going to rattle or move. He looped the locket’s heavy chain around his neck and felt the protection against Amara’s control come over him like a wonderfully soft invisible blanket.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to wear this ugly thing,” Dean said, holding the locket in his hand at the limit of the chain.

“It’s just until we figure out how to get rid of her hold on you,” Sam said. “Unless you’d rather just be erased and absorbed that is, I don’t know…maybe you’ve changed your mind.”

Dean shivered at the reminder of Amara’s words. “Nah, I’ll suck up the bad fashion choices considering the alternative.”

  
“I like it, reminds me of the magic locket in that Christmas Secret movie you were watching last week,” Sam said in a teasing voice.

“Apparently you were watching it too, if you remember the name,” Dean said, ready to tease him right back.

“You know I like the schlocky romantic movies too, just like you do. But I’m at least man enough to admit it,” Sam said with an annoying air of superiority. He tugged at the locket until Dean was up on his toes enough to kiss him senseless. Somehow Dean didn’t care about teasing or movies or lockets.

***

“This place feels okay now, maybe it could be our winter home or something,” Dean said, as he finished packing up his duffel bag.

“Really, you’d be okay with staying here now?” Sam asked, zipping his own bag up and hoisting it onto his shoulder.

Dean picked up his own bag and began walking to the door. “Yeah, guess I’m over it now or whatever. We need a back-up safe house anyway. Plus I know the low light in the bunker gets to you in the winter.”

Sam’s hand found its usual spot on Dean’s lower back, warm and reassuring as always. “I like  that idea, a winter home.”

Dean looked up at Sam and fiddled with the locket hanging around his neck. “Guess we better get back to our summer home then, huh?”

“Who knew we’d end up with two houses, Bobby would have been impressed.”

“We would’ve never been able to get him out of the library back at the bunker.”

The End


End file.
